


I got a taste and it's time

by orbiting_saturn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 02:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbiting_saturn/pseuds/orbiting_saturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Been on the darker side of forty some years now and the only thing that surprises her more than how much things change is how much they stay the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I got a taste and it's time

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for Abandon All Hope.

Heat of the booze creeping up in her blood so she’d shed her jacket before wandering out onto the front porch. It’s just as dusty out here as it is in Bobby’s old house, but the chill in the air sliding over her bare arms settles her pumping heart a little. Too much revelry, adrenaline and the over-whelming, blinding fear has her going tachycardic. She’s damn sure she’s getting too old for this shit.

“Hey, Ellen.” The voice behind her makes her jump a little, but she hides it with a shiver and rubs her arms as she turns to Sam. Kid’s all spread out on the fraying wicker couch, feet propped and crossed on a turned over milk crate. It’s dark out here, but the light from inside illuminates him enough she can follow the long lines of his body. Can’t help the smirk at where her thoughts go.

Sam fucking Winchester. Hell if she doesn't feel like some desperate old broad, eyeing this kid like he ain't only a couple of years older than her daughter. Been on the darker side of forty some years now and the only thing that surprises her more than how much things change is how much they stay the same. One thing's the same, that's for sure. She still likes a man who can fill a doorway, broad and muscled and tall, like he knows better what the human body is capable of. Sam's for that look too. Like he _knows_ things. Might be young still, compared to her, but he's not a kid anymore. He's grown into a damn fine man.

“Heya, Sam,” she smiles back, leans against the porch railing to take a pull off her beer. Her buzz makes the smile easy and wide, strangely honest as she looks down at the youngest Winchester. His flannel shirt is open, black undershirt clinging tight to his abs. “What’s shakin’?”

Sam's teeth are a flash of white in the dark when he smiles, dimples peeking out under his shaded eyes. "I had to escape," he tells her, drops his feet and leans his elbows on his knees. It's sad cuz she can no longer make out the soft stretch of cloth over his chest, but she appeases herself with an eye full of broad shoulders. Boy's grown into himself nicely. "Watching Dean strike out with Jo was just a little too embarrassing."

Her low chuckle is rough in her throat. She wets it again with another swig of beer. "Surprised she turned him down, honestly. Girl's got a taste for pretty boys."

She watches Sam stand, stretch and twist his head 'til his neck pops. "That why she's been flirting with Cas all night?" he asks, wandering over to lean against the railing beside her. He's radiating heat all along her side and her fingers twitch to reach out. She shoves them tight into the pocket of her jeans instead and focuses on not letting her smile falter.

"Yeah, I reckon that's why," she answers back, huffs a laugh she doesn't feel. It's chilly cold out here, but she feels flushed like a teenage girl on prom night. "She ain't nothing like me." It's a lie and she knows it. Jo's pretty much _just_ like her, except maybe for her taste in men.

"How's that?" Sam asks, takes her beer bottle from her hand and brings it to his lips. She raises a brow and looks up, seems like miles up, and meets his eyes. There's a challenge in them. "Seems to me, Jo's a _lot_ like you."

And, yeah, she's been around long enough to know when a man's flirting with her. She can feel it in his body language, the way he's leaning just a little too close. Way his lips linger over a teasing smile. Decision time. Give the kid something to write to Penthouse forum about or give him a patronizing pat on the cheek and something to look at while she walks away.

Her body decides for her, twists towards Sam like it's got a mind of its own. They're so close now, her head's tilted back at an almost uncomfortable angle. "Where it counts, I guess she is. But I never did get all fluttery over delicate men."

"No, I don't expect you have, Ellen." There's a baited moment then, both of them looking to see who bites first. Her lips quirk up in a smirk. Figures she could wait all night for the kid to come out and say it. Or just _do_ something about it anyway. "So," he finally says, a smirk of his own tilting his pretty mouth. "Dangerous mission tomorrow."

She barks a laugh, remembering the same words from earlier and what the hell, she'll play along. "You givin' me the last-night-on-Earth speech?"

Sam's head leans down, low enough that his bangs fall around his eyes. She can't see 'em now, but that dimpled smile she used think of as cute is still beaming down at her. "If I were, would that work?"

"Aw, hell, kid," she says and tucks her fingers into the waste band of his low-slung jeans, feels the muscles jump under her touch. "Might as well. Self-respect is over-rated anyway."

He'd have probably kissed her just then, if she gave him the chance, but instead she turns away and tugs him behind her. They trip down the stairs of the porch together, and it comes to her that they're both probably a little too drunk for this, but oh well. Once she makes a decision, she rarely ever backs out. She gets them as far as the back door of her truck before Sam's twisting her around, wanting that kiss she denied him and so he takes it, mouth hard against hers.

God, he's large. Hard lines of muscle caging her against the cold press of the truck. She opens her mouth to him easy and his tongue slides right in, slick and hot against hers. He kisses just the way she likes, dominating, but smooth. Just enough push and pull to take charge, but not so much it hurts. He's one of those men who's conscious of his size and strength.

Her body remembers things she thought it forgot years back; how to bow her back to make things easier, press up on her toes for that added height. Arm just slides up and around Sam's warm, thick neck and pulls enough to lift herself a little. For all her efforts Sam has to practically fold himself over to nose his way past her hair, skate those sly lips over her neck. She read somewhere once that women hit their sexual peak in their forties. Hasn't had much opportunity to test that theory, but here and now, she's gonna go with yeah, pretty damn accurate. That low, slow ache coils hot in her belly when Sam's hands span her waist. It's like zero to sixty in three seconds flat before she's wet and wanting. That's when things get really nasty.

Man like Sam can only be patient and accommodating for so long when he wants something. And the awkward discomfort of shrinking himself down to her level must be a hell of a buzzkill cuz he tightens those massive hands hard and lifts her so quick she gasps. She wraps her legs around his narrow hips and the sensation, so old that it's new, has her bucking and grinding while Sam fills her mouth again.

She can feel the long, hard press of him exactly where she needs it, rolls her hips enough that they're groaning in each other's mouths. The endorphins make her loopy enough to grin into it. "If you nail me here, it's gonna be hell on my back, kid. Show some fucking respect and lay me down."

Sam's laugh vibrates over her skin and her nipples pop up tight under the sensation. "Yes, ma'am."

She'd smack him upside the head for saying that, but doesn't get the chance before he's pulling back and yanking the car door open. He's taking her whole weight with one strong arm and hell if that doesn't get her engine running enough to bite a line down the salty line of his neck. She's got the fingers of one hand shoved into all that soft too-long hair and the other sneaking down the back of his shirt.

It's not 'til Sam's pulling her death grip from 'round his neck that she realizes he's pressing her into the worn upholstery of the back seat. She mostly doesn't want to let go, but vaguely remembers that sex is hard with clothes on. Once he's free, Sam pulls off his overshirt and quickly yanks his t-shirt after it. Holy shit, this kid is built like no man she's been with, smooth skin pulled taut over swelling muscles.

A flash of white teeth in a grin too cute for words tells her he sees her admiring. With a roll of her eyes, she skins her t-shirt up and off. "Wanna quit grinning like an idiot and get those pants off?" she asks.

He ignores her suggestion, grabs up one of her feet and tugs just hard enough to have her falling back against the seat again. His hand slides up under the cuff and for the first time his gaze is off her face while he figures out exactly how to get her boot off. It's not rocket science really, a side zip on the side, but the look of pure concentration scrunching his brow makes her chuckle a little. All those brains and still he gets thrown off by women's apparel. "It zips on the side, genius," she says, just wanting to move things along.

While he yanks off first one then the other, he half smiles and flicks his eyes back to hers. "If I survive the apocalypse, I'm gonna write an angry monologue about the fashion industry putting laces and zippers on the same footwear. It seems so unnecessary."

She feels suddenly ridiculous, full on laughing and gasping while a twenty-something, God she can't even remember his age, continues to undress her.

Sam's playful smile slides right away when he skims her jeans down her legs, face going all turned-on-serious when he glides his hands over the curves of her calves, the sides of her hips, the dip at her waist. It's got her tightening now, shivering and arching up into each touch. His jeans scratch at her skin when his hips slide between her legs and it's distracting enough that she almost misses it when fingers go for her bra hooks.

"Leave it," she says, tensing and pushing at his arms. She isn't normally the shy type really, but Sam's used to banging twenty year olds with perky boobs. She takes good care of herself, apart from being a tiny bit alcoholic, and knows she looks better than most women her age. But for some reason she really doesn't want Sam to see her naked all of a sudden.

Sam's grip tightens enough to pinch her back and he yanks her closer, hips slotting in between her thighs, mouth hovering over hers. "No fucking way," he breaths into her, licks her lower lip slow and savoring. "I've been thinking about doing this for four years. I'm not going to half-ass it now that I've finally got you here."

She couldn't argue now if she wanted to because his tongue is in her mouth again, his nimble fingers going back to her bra and snapping it open on the first try. Once it's open, Sam pulls back just enough to drag it off her. Her nipples tighten under the cool air, but then he's flush against her, groaning when her breasts press into his chest. "You're an amazing woman, Ellen," he breathes into her ear before nipping at the lobe.

There's goosebumps breaking out all over her arms while his lips map the line of her neck, hot and moist tongue sweeps in the hollow of her throat. She feels flushed and the damp ache between her thighs is impossible. Her legs wrap tight around him and when he groans she can easily ignore any embarrassment she might feel when he fills his mouth with her right breast.

"Jesus, Sam," she gasps, back a curving arch to press as close as humanly possible to his animal warmth. "Will you just fuck me already?"

She'd be more active if she could, wants to rip his jeans open and take hold of him, but he's all around her, over-whelming her with his size and making every move she makes feel small and useless. Holding on tight seems to be all she can do with him pinning her down like this. He rocks his hips once, the hard line of his trapped cock nailing her just exactly right. The self-satisfied rumble he gives is just downright annoying.

Grabbing fistfuls of too long hair, she yanks in frustration and his head is wrenched away from her with a grunt of discomfort. She's feeling a little self-satisfied herself now. "Stop being a cocky little prick and take your damn pants off."

Sam pushes up on his knees, head ducked down against the roof and hair falling in his face. She didn't realize until now that the door is still wide open and anyone could see if they came out on the porch. God, she desperately hopes Jo stays inside, smiling and making cow eyes at that angel.

"Always knew you'd be bossy in bed," Sam tells her with a flash of his stupidly white teeth. She kind wants to smack him again, but he distracts her with his swift, pushy manhandling. It goes so quick, she's not even sure how he got her panties off, some pretty impressive maneuvering that goes by in the blink of an eye until she's butt-ass naked and spread like a whore with his hand pinning her leg to the top of the seat. "Stay just like that," he demands, punctuates it with a squeeze to her calf.

Part of her wants to argue, but since she can be honest in her own head, she kind of gets a thrill from it. She just bites her tongue, forces down the urge to smart off and watches while he pulls open the button-fly of his jeans. That slim trail of hair leading into the waist of his underwear, bisecting the v-cut of honed muscle is so distracting that she's not even sure where he magicked up the condom he's pressing into her hand. "Do the honors?" he asks before his thumbs hook in and drag down underwear and jeans in one go.

"God damn," she mutters, taking in the long jut of his hard cock, on display for her and so damn pretty that part of her just wants to see how much of it she can get in her mouth. But if she starts that, she won't stop until he goes off and she _really_ wants him to fuck her.

Finally she gets one of her hands around him, gives him a few slow strokes, drags her thumb over the wet head and grins like crazy when she hears his breath hitch. Her grin falls away on a shout when he gets a hand between her legs and slides two long fingers right into her. She lets him fall out of her hand, can't promise she won't squeeze too tight now and end this thing before it can even start.

Her hands are shaking and he's making pleased little sounds while he fucks his fingers deep inside. She twists against his hand and fumbles stupidly at the condom wrapper until its open. There's nothing teasing or slow when she rolls it down his length, just quick and dirty and relief so intense that they can get to it. _Finally_.

"Sam, Sam, now, do it fucking NOW," she gasps in panting little hitches that she wished sounded demanding instead of pleading. But, thank GOD that big, dumb kid finally takes some damn mercy on her and does it. His fingers are gone and then, jesus fuck! He's _huge_. He's splitting her open, stretching her wide and it's so good. It's so what she needs.

She'd been a little bit mindless before, a little ditzy on the lust-high, but somehow having Sam filling her is like an anchor. All those neurons narrowed down to one ultimate goal and now that it's achieved, they spread like slow-moving honey through her body. Every part of her feels this, Sam laid out against her, hips snug against her pelvis and so still, just breathing harsh against her neck. He's strung taut all over, like a bow pulled so tight it could snap and she feels this over-whelming urge to soothe it all away.

All her limbs wrap around him, hands smoothing down his sweaty neck, into the dip of his spine. A low hum rises in her throat like a calming shush that's maybe a little too nurturing. "Come on, baby," she whispers low and husky. "Move for me." And punctuates her words with a little roll of her hips, clamps tight around him.

It gets him going, the slide so easy and perfect. Deep, short thrusts that rock right against that special spot and get her writhing. She sets her mouth against his shoulder, tastes the salt sheen of sweat with her tongue, scrapes her teeth just a shade too hard. "Fuck," Sam groans and surges deeper, harder.

The moment of tenderness is thankfully brief, it's not what either of them wants and when Sam levers up on both arms there's space enough for him to lengthen his strokes. Unpinned she can rise up to meet him, her calves hooked tight around his thighs. Pushing and pulling him to her 'til he gets this hyper-focused look on his face and tilts his hips to just the right angle.

Every down stroke makes her jolt and shake and it's amazing because she knows this won't take long at all. She never been the kind of woman who comes easy, she takes a lot of work, but she was right about Sam knowing things. He just _knows_ the right angle to tilt his hips, the right rhythm to set and exactly where she needs him. He comes down on one elbow, licks into her gasping mouth and lays his forehead to hers. "Thought about this for so long," he mutters against her cheek, hips moving smooth against her. "Wanna hear your smoky voice when you come. Want you to shout my name."

She hadn't taken him for the type to fuck-babble, but then she probably should have. Never could shut up when he should. She can forgive him easy enough, with his cock nailing into her g-spot. And his voice is sexy-rough between licks and thrusts. "Gonna come for me, Ellen? Come for me."

So, yeah, they might both die tomorrow. World's probably gonna end in fire anyway, so she might as well give him what he wants. One more thrust and she's gone, her orgasm jerking her up and clenching her so tight that Sam gasps. "S-Sam," she moans her way through it. And it seems to do the trick, like he said it would. His hips stutter, slamming deep in and he shudders and bucks so hard it aches a little, but in a good way.

He's vibrating above her, still propped up on an elbow and mindful not to crush her. As her mind starts to clear and her heart rate slows, she's surprised to find his free hand gently cupping her breast, thumb playing idly over her nipple. Sam's breathing is slowing too, puffy in her hair and making it tickle her flushed neck. She's not really sure what to say, now it's over, but she doesn't want him to move just yet cuz the door is still open and he's blocking most of the cold air.

"That was fucking hot," Sam whispers close to her ear. And it strikes her as sort of inappropriately funny. Her laugh sounds low and husky even to her own ears. So what if his little schoolboy fantasy is a little clichéd? It _was_ pretty hot.


End file.
